So, you know, it’s a bit grainy and the flesh-coloured wall obscures the real talking point, but it’s Clive Owen in a lesser-spotted-naked-ish-state all the same, so shut-the-fuck-up. If you’re innerested, he can here be seen on ‘is ‘olidays in Rome… with his wife and kids. Boo. No really, booooooooo.

Fun factoid: Our friend goes to his gym in London’s leafy North London. Actually, more than one of our friends go to his gym. We were naturally on the brink of quitting our current gym(s) and joining said gym-that-Clive-Owen-goes-to instead, until we were informed Clive Owen doesn’t hang around the changing rooms in either a small towelling robe (white) or indeed nothing at all. What’s the point of that, then?